Page 15 of Tangling Hearts

Chapter Ten

Tommy

Keys: rattling. Feet: loud on the living room floor. Fear: unavoidable

Iwalk in like I should be here, like it’s okay that I left, like I’m a grown man who can go where he wants. Predictably, the stomping at the top of the stairs makes it clear that Dad’s up, and he’s not happy. What else is fucking new?

I look up and meet his eyes, not interested in the game but knowing I have to play.

“What the fuck?! Did you leave?”

So, that answers that. He didn’t know. I could have snuck back in. But this was smarter.

“Yeah.” I lift up a bag of Jack in the Box in one hand, an extra large Dr. Pepper in the other, with the straw all bent and sucked on. “I was hungry for some grease.”

He scowls, screening my face like a human foolproof lie detector. “I didn’t hear the garage door open.”

“I took your truck.” Throwing him a sneaky grin, I add, “Had to see if I could get away with it.”

He does his half-sneer, the one that says he gets it, that I haven’t fallen far from the tree. That he’s almost proud of me. Almost.

“Fuckin’ kid.” He turns around and I head to the den thinking I’m in the clear and I can get some much needed sleep, but he stops me. “Hey!”

Backward I step into his line of sight. “Yeah?”

His chin jerks. “If you’re able to drive, you’re able to go back to work, and sleep in your own bed.”

Staring up, I nod. “I’ll be out tomorrow.”

“Go now.” His eyes are firm. “In your own piece of shit car. Keys are in the coffee-table drawer.”

I take a sip of my soda, looking at him from underneath my brow. I let the sound slurp loud. Real loud, and release the straw with a snapping sound. “I love you, Dad.”

“Fuck you.”

I smirk. Break eye contact. Motherfucker wants to show he’s in control. That I can’t sneak out and win. He’s the boss. Not me. And I’d better never forget it. It’s pin-drop quiet as he watches me walk to the coffee table for my keys. I slide the drawer open and pull them out, nice and slow. “Night, Dad,” I say, still smirking to cover up my hatred for the man as I walk toward the garage.

His voice reaches me just before I’m out of earshot. “See you in six months—the Tiburon job.”

I close the door, slowly listening to the click as the latch slides into place. Releasing the handle, my shoulders go lax, exhaustion taking over me. I don’t want to drive back over the bridge again. I just wanted to sleep, even if it was on the fucking couch.

Lowering myself carefully into the scrubbed-clean seat of my BMW, I sit in the closed garage, turn the key and stay with the car running. I could let the fumes take everything away from me. Check out of here for good. Would I care? Is there anything after this? Would I know I died? Would I go to hell? If there’s a heaven, I doubt I’d be invited in. But maybe I would. Maybe that’s why Brendan survived, so I wouldn’t be a murderer and be locked out of the Pearly Gates for good.

Turning on the radio, I lay my head back on the seat, thinking about what a good idea this is. My parents finding me in the morning. My dad’s face when he sees I finally got the last word. They’ll have to explain to the cops why I have a bullet-hole in my dead body. The cops would probably think it was my dad who did it. Would that be so bad?

Let them think it was him.

I smile, feeling sleepier…

But maybe Dad would rat me out and say it was all because of Fuckhead Brendan that this happened, that I lost my cool. What am I asking maybe for? Dad would definitely rat me out, and then Brendan would know he got the drop on me all these years – that I couldn’t handle the heat.

Fuck that shit.

I step out of the car and hit the button on the wall, watching the street slowly coming into view, along with another day alive. I climb back in and drive away.

---